The Shadow With Dark Eyes

“He always keeps his door locked,” Arianna remarked as she sipped more of her hot coffee. She cradled the mug in her hands as she stared outside the window and into the backyard. It was small, more concrete than grass, and no pool as a safe haven on sunny days. Ari swung her gaze back to her friend who was thoughtfully stirring her own coffee. “Rachel?”

Rachel sighed and let go of the spoon. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “My brother has had a rough life. You don’t really know all the details about it.”

She was right about that. Ari had heard from the grapevine that Davy had been victimized. There hadn’t been any more detail than that, and Davy’s family never liked to talk about it. Ari would admit that she was curious before she came over to her friend’s house for a week vacation, but after seeing Davy himself, her curiosity bordered on obsessive.

Davy and Rachel were twins, about a year older than Ari herself. Rachel had blonde hair and blue eyes, but apparently Davy had dyed his angelic blonde hair into pure black. His brown eyes, inherited from his dad, looked darker and more sinister coupled with his black, shaggy hair. Just looking into those dark eyes, you knew that Davy had experienced something that made him infinitely wiser than those around him. Something that had opened his eyes wider, had made his observations sharper, had made his instincts more alert and therefore better. Davy seemed to be the one who stood patiently on the sidewalk, carefully watching the world go by with those eyes that saw everything. As if his eyes and his hair weren’t enough, Davy had decided to go completely gothic. Skulls and menacing pictures with blood-red color were always visible on his black shirts. His black pants were long and baggy with silver chains appearing and disappearing all around his legs. He wore black converse and those things that looked like black sweatbands around his wrists, but they had spikes on them. He had piercings: five on his ears, one on his eyebrow, and one on his lower lip. He was like a shadow that lived in this big house with the small backyard. When Ari saw him, it was always a black body that was moving so quietly up the stairs and shut his bedroom door so quietly behind him. Ari had never spoken two words to him. When she had arrived at this house, Rachel and her family had apologized and explained that Davy “didn’t know she was arriving and he’s out right now.” Ari wonders if Davy did know but had locked himself in his room, just like he does everyday.

Picturing Davy and Rachel standing together, Ari couldn’t believe that they were twins. They were complete opposites; Rachel was the light and Davy was the dark. Rachel was an angel, and Ari couldn’t help but think of Davy as a demon. When something is unknown, it is human nature to be afraid of it. Ari didn’t know Davy, didn’t know why he dressed the way he did, didn’t know why he never talked, didn’t know why his eyes looked so world-wise and cynical. And because she didn’t know, her curiosity knew no limits and her fear of him was always in the back of her mind. While she did want to talk to him, she didn’t think she could have the guts to knock on his door when nobody else was in the house. In fact, since her stay here, she always made it a point to never be alone in the house. Ari never knew if Davy was in his locked bedroom or if he was out, but she didn’t want to be alone to guess and wonder.

And so here Ari was, finally talking about the white elephant that had been lumbering around this house ever since Ari had arrived: they were finally talking about Davy. Ari wasn’t stupid enough or rude enough to ask Rachel what had happened to her twin. So instead she asked, “Have you ever seen his room?”

Rachel seemed to fidget in her chair, looking extremely uncomfortable about the topic. “Well, yeah. But…” Her blue eyes swung straight to Ari’s as she said, “But not since that…day.”

More questions, more mysteries about the black shadow named Davy. What had happened to him?

“Does he ever talk?” Ari asked.

Rachel gave a strained smile. “Of course. I know that he doesn’t talk to you…and it’s nothing personal. He has a friend or two that he talks to and he has me and our parents, but besides that he doesn’t talk to anybody else.” Rachel must’ve seen Ari’s puzzled expression and so she tried to explain, looking up at the ceiling, carefully picking her words as if from the air, “Well…before that day, Davy never talked much either. He only talked when he had something to say. But after…what happened to him, it’s like Davy grew more comfortable with silence. He likes to keep his thoughts to himself and…like I said, he likes silence. There have been times where we sit on the couch and watch TV together for hours, but neither one of us say a word. Davy doesn’t talk just to…talk, you know? He only does it when he needs to. I don’t think he…wants to, but only when he needs to.”
         


For the next two days, Ari thought about Rachel’s cryptic explanation. For the next two days, Ari couldn’t help but continue to glance and stare at the door that was always closed, the door that contained dark secrets of a dark shadow. Ari had only seen Davy once more during those two days. She had been sitting on the couch, watching TV, facing the front door. It must’ve been ten o’clock at night; Rachel had already crashed in her bedroom and Ari was soon to follow.

Then the front door was casually opened. In stepped a black shadow doused in the black night’s darkness. Ari knew, even without being able to see the face, that it was Davy. He still hadn’t seen her in the living room as he quietly shut the door closed, picked up his bag full of something fairly large, and turned around to go up the stairs…

And he froze.

Davy had stepped into the light from the living room, his whole face now completely visible and staring directly at her. For a few tense seconds, Davy and Ari couldn’t look away from the other. Silence was sitting in the room. Then Davy slowly shifted his bag from one hand to the other, and he started to climb up the stairs. The living room light didn’t extend that far, and so he was swallowed in mysterious darkness once more. Ari strained to hear Davy’s footsteps, but he was so quiet. All she heard was the soft thud of a door closing soon after.

Ari had sat back on the couch and relived those moments in her memory. She knew that Davy was aware.          

Davy knew that Ari was curious.



She had to know. Enough was enough.

Ari tossed her covers off and lightly stepped across the room, careful not to disturb Rachel who was sleeping soundly. Ari silently closed the door behind her. Walking down the dark hallway, Ari kept her gaze focused upon that locked door.

She had heard about half an hour earlier the front door open and close. Davy had left the house. Ari couldn’t sleep after that, tossing and turning as she wondered what Davy was doing, as she wondered what that empty room that was so obsessively guarded looked like, as she wondered if she could possibly pick the lock and find all the hidden secrets inside. It nearly drove her nuts thinking about all this, and finally she had made the decision that had her standing in front of Davy’s door.

Ari jiggled with the lock for a few minutes, trying to find out how it worked. A satisfying click split the air and Ari froze. Blood rushing through her, ears straining, she wondered if anyone was stirring. There wasn’t a sound in the house except for the loud booming of her heart. Her breath short with anticipation, Ari silently opened the door and slipped through. Quickly, she shut the door behind her and locked it.

The room was dark; she couldn’t see a thing in it. Her fear grew as she wondered what could possibly be in the room with her. Was it Davy? Or was it some evil thing that he kept in his room so nobody else would know?

Her hands fumbling blindly across the wall, she finally found the switch and light poured into the room.

Ari turned around to take a look at the room…

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes became wide, and she forgot to breathe for a few seconds.

The room was covered with paintings and drawings.

A simple bed with a black cover stood in the middle of the carpeted room. A mirror was behind a dark-wood night dresser, and on top of the dresser there was assorted paint brushes that were dipped in various colors; pencils and crayons and pastels with rich and vibrant colors; black markers and black ink; opened cans of paint and cans still sealed. The carpet was plain Berber, but green, blue, red, black, white, orange, yellow—all the colors imaginable stained the carpet in splotches and blots and splashes.

And the pictures.

Ari turned around and around in a circle, looking at these walls that told the mind and thoughts of a dark shadow. There was rage in a face that was screaming in fury. Who’s face was that? It was blurry. There was a picture over here about an old man hunched over. The detail was amazing, all the wrinkles and age spots, the aged and curled fingers, the lines of weariness and the look of despair in his eyes. There was child in a corner, the picture being less than two feet—he held out a cup, there was a plea in his eyes and there was no pride in his face. He had dirty, messy hair and scraggy clothes. Then over there was a couple, a man and a woman with long luxurious brown hair, and they were hugging each other as if they were going to die tomorrow. The woman’s eyes was closed tight and a tear had slipped down. Over there by the ceiling—a bird soaring liked it ruled the sky with the sun behind it. Here was two clasped hands, the kind you would see between two old friends. Over there was a heart that was ripped in two. Over there was a lonely woman sitting on her couch, crying big blue tears that ran down her cheeks as she hugged herself tightly. Here was a little boy that was laughing, his mouth wide open and his eyes sparkling. Over there was a man that stared stonily back at you, his eyes dark and his face expressionless, but you had the feeling that the man was vibrating with anger. Over there was a man that had his hand raised towards his wife, who was cowering and closing her eyes in anticipation as she raised her arms up; a child could be seen behind the couple, huddling on the wall. Over there was a painted window that looked to be broken. Right here, by the floor, were clouds that struck rain and lightning on the barren and dark ground below it. There were two men, both in their young teens, with quick and easy anger on their face as they raised their fists to drive into the other’s face. Right there was a man that looked to be stumbling out of a door, his face vacuous, his hand outstretched as if to balance himself and his other hand loosely holding a nearly-empty bottle. Over there was a flower, opened and budding with a crimson color. Small pictures filled the empty spaces between the big ones: there was a dark hood like the Reaper, a snake over there twining around a knife, a skull over here that looked somber, money over there that looked doused in blood, a face here that was joyful and a face over there that looked to be in agonizing pain. There were still blank parts on the wall, white and waiting to be painted on. The blank spots looked like mistakes in this myriad of bright, emotion-filled pictures that were combined of paints, crayons, pastels, markers, pencils.

A sound behind her!

Ari whirled to see the door open…

And Davy step in. He took a calm look into her eyes, his face completely expressionless. He quietly closed the door behind him, and Ari’s heart raced in fear. The way he gave nothing away made Ari’s fear increase two fold.

Davy with his world-wise eyes that were so dark because of the loss of ignorance, took a look around the room. Ari didn’t move; she was paralyzed. And then Davy turned his back on her as he walked over to his night dresser. He walked slowly, purposefully, and without a sound. Ari could hear her own breathing and she wondered wildly if Davy ever breathed—was he even alive? Was he human?

Ari could see his reflection in the mirror. Then Davy quietly crossed his arms and slowly pulled his shirt off.

Scars criss-crossed his back in crude slashes. Some of them were ugly welts, as if they didn’t heal properly, twisting like snakes in his skin. The front part of him that Ari could see in the mirror was much the same—scars ran down from his collarbone to his waist, and even then Ari wondered if they didn’t continue down his legs. The scars were brutal. Some were long, some where short. Some looked to be surface cuts but others looked to be nearly an inch deep. Some were the lighter skin of a healed scar, but others were purple and twisted. What was strange to Ari, and what almost made her vomit right on the spot, were how straight and perfect the cuts looked…like knife wounds. Knife wounds just absolutely covered his body. How was it possible that he had survived with what looked to be like hundreds of cuts?

In the mirror reflection, Davy swung his gaze to capture Ari’s. For the first time ever, Davy said something to Ari. He said in a toneless voice, his eyes staring so intensely into hers so she would never forget, “Ten of them caught me in an alley three blocks from a police station. They thought it was fun.”